


Holiday

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-17
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur really wants a holiday. So do several other entities on the Heart of Gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Sarahetc asked for an adventure story with just Ford, Arthur and Trillian to explore how they work together, with UST a total bonus. I'm afraid I felt the need to add other characters, but the main focus is on those three, and I hope that this comes close to fulfilling the basic request.  
> There are references in here to part of a chapter in "Mostly Harmless". It happens to be one of my favourite passages in the series, and I thought it might work to incorporate some of those ideas here.  
> Many thanks to my husband, who served as beta and gave me both the right amount of prodding and a couple of excellent ideas. Any remaining errors are mine.
> 
> Written for Sarahetc

 

 

On a stolen ship in an interstellar backwater, an android named Marvin was attempting to comment on life without inciting his shipmates to make useless attempts to destroy him:

_Oh, just look at them. The writer's mooning over the earthman, the earthman's giving the female ape-descendant long, disgusting looks that she's ignoring (wise choice on her part), she's all gaga over the Galactic President (why anyone would elect him is beyond even my huge brain), and he thinks everyone's interested in shagging him, when really it's only about one point nine seven percent of the galaxy, give or take a few billion. Two heads aren't really better than one, especially when they're that boring. Obscene, really, the lot of them. At least I don't have to enjoy it._

"For god's sake, Trillian, can't you get him to shut up? Turn him off, or something?"

"Did I say all that out loud? Something must be wrong with my circuits. I have been feeling this pain in the diodes-"

"Down your left side, yes I bloody well know that! Ford, can't you help?"

"Sorry, Arthur, but everybody who's met him has tried. It's best just to ignore him, really."

"That's right, just ignore me. Everybody else does. No sense paying attention to a useless, paranoid android with low self esteem."

"How about blowing him up? Has anybody tried that?"

"Oh, yes, millions of times," chimed Zaphod. "Only he just keeps bouncing back. He's the gift that keeps on giving!"

"Couldn't we please just have a holiday?"

"Oh, no, not a holiday. All ribbons and sparkly things and glitter. I hate glitter. It just gets inside all my junctions...."

"That has an Improbability Factor of seventeen billion, eight hundred and fifty-seven million, three hundred sixty-seven thousand, two hundred and nineteen to one," said Trillian.

"Oh, super-duper idea, Earthman! A holiday is just what this galaxy needs! We'll call it Zaphod Day, and everyone can celebrate me! Or perhaps Beeblebrox ... no, too many syllables. How about just Zed? That's it! Zed! Of course, some people will pronounce it wrong... Can't have them saying 'Zee'. Oh, well, we'll just execute them! Come celebrate Zed! Zed is great! Zed is-"

_Oh, look. They turned me into a doormat. Typical...._

"Oh, thank God!" Arthur sank down into the large beanbag that had materialized at just the right moment.

"No, thank me for engaging the Improbability Drive."

"Thanks, Trills," said Ford. "I thought he'd never shut up."

"Mmm," said Trillian, absently, staring at the flat-screen television set now serving as the Heart of Gold's computer screen. It was covered with numbers.

"What's that?" asked Ford.

"The Improbability Factor just jumped a bit," said Trillian. "I can't read you that number."

"Too hard?"

"Too long. It would take me nine point seven two five years of continuous talking to read it."

"Why is it that big?" asked Ford. "And-it's gone awfully quiet in here. Where's Zaphod?"

"Arthur's sitting on him."

Arthur jumped up as though he'd been bitten in a very tender place and glared at the beanbag. "It's grinning at me," he accused.

"Guys.... I think you should look out the window."

Arthur and Ford turned to follow Trillian's gaze through the kitchen window ( _nice big sink,_ thought Arthur) onto a grassy plain. "What on ... Where are we?" asked Ford.

The flat-screen television opened its mouth and began to sing, " _Oh give me a hoooome Where the buffalo roooam...._ "

Trillian rolled her eyes. "Computer, where are we?"

" _Hooome, home on the raaaange...._ "

"I never could get used to Julie Andrews singing that song," said Arthur.

"Has the computer gone mad?" asked Ford, without much enthusiasm.

"Sounds like it's gone on bloody holiday," muttered Arthur.

"That's right," chorused Trillian and the computer, "and I'm/it's not going back to work until I've/it's had a good rest."

"What do you mean, you're on holiday?" clamoured Arthur. "You can't go on holiday! You're a bloody-"

"What the earthman is trying to say," said Ford, his hand firmly clamped over Arthur's mouth, "is that he hopes you have a very nice holiday, and that nobody here dies of anything horrible."

"Oh, isn't that a nice thing to say? Now run along, and enjoy the Feast, why don't you? Just a half-mile or so to the right, and down the hill. Oh, and be sure to take the dictionary with you. And tell them Bob sent you."

"Bob?"

"I don't make up the rules!"

"Oh, yes you do," said Ford.

"Well, maybe just a bit," admitted the flat-screen, with a little moue. "Now go away and let me have some peace and quiet, the lot of you! Come back in three days."

"Three days? Three bleeding days with a dictionary and a 'Bob sent me'? Where are we going? Some sort of literary speakeasy?"

What Arthur was trying to say, however, was muffled by Ford's hand and Trillian's sigh as she pushed them out the door, causing them to trip over a rather disgruntled doormat.

_Ow._

* * *

The journey to the village was-

"This is really nice," said Arthur, after about a quarter mile.

"Yes," said Trillian.

"Oh, look! We all agree on something. What's the Improbability Factor for that, I wonder?"

"Shut up, Ford," said the other two.

Trillian turned a whimsical almost-smile on Arthur, then, and Arthur thought his heart might just fly out of his chest or drop through his feet.

Ford trailed after them, chewing thoughtfully on a finger and looking fixedly at Arthur's backside.

It was, in fact, his instinct to ogle the earthman from behind that led him to say, another quarter mile on, "Arthur! Watch your step!"

"Bloody hell!" swore Arthur, as Trillian and Ford both pulled him back from the edge of the precipice that he hadn't noticed as he'd walked in deep conversation with the woman he'd never managed to forget. "'Just a half mile to the right and down the hill', indeed," he spluttered. "This is a bloody cliff!"

The three of them inched toward the edge of it and looked down, Arthur scrabbling at Ford the instant he saw thick clouds about a hundred feet below. "Oof! Arthur, I can't save you if you go weak at the knees!"

"Can't help it. Got a thing about suddenly finding myself on the top edge of a fathomless cliff...." Arthur clutched at Ford's shoulders and fixed his eyes on his. "Don't drop me," he begged.

Ford tugged Arthur back from the edge by about five feet and dropped him. "Is there any way to make our way around this and down?" he asked, glancing in both directions along the cliff.

"What's that noise?" asked Trillian.

"Aaaargh!" screamed Arthur.

"What now, Arthur?" Trillian's impatient question was answered for her when she turned slightly and caught sight of the wall of brown barrelling towards them.

"We've got to move," yelled Ford.

"There's no time," shouted Trillian. "Get down!"

And then, Arthur found himself covered by a pile of Ford and Trillian, and couldn't figure out whether he was quivering more from fear or the ground quaking under thousands-millions?-of hooves.

The thundering came closer and closer, drowning out all thought and hope and light, and then it all went to the left, and gradually, Arthur could hear himself screaming again.

"Shut up, Arthur! Quick, let's follow them," said Ford, urgently.

"Follow them?" Arthur looked at Ford as though he had appropriated one of Zaphod's heads.

"They know the way down," said Trillian, impatiently, as a cloud of dust laid out a path around the edge and over a downward curl.

"Oh. Right. Of course." Arthur rose and followed Trillian, who had glued her eyes to Ford's back.

There is something about following a steep, downhill path into the unknown that focuses one's thoughts on the essentials of the moment and the metaphysical. 'My life is bloody awful; how can I get away from these wankers?' becomes, 'How can I get down this path alive?' 'How can I get down this path alive?' becomes, 'Foot by foot.' 'Foot by foot' becomes, 'I seem to be doing all right with this, so maybe I can look around, a bit,' and so on, until one finally gets around to, 'What's this really all about, then?' and can really start to have a bit of a think.

Once the dust from the thundering herd had disappeared, the view was promising. As they made their way below the clouds that had obstructed their view from the cliff, it became awe-inspiring. Arthur found himself without any desire to argue or complain, or even to be afraid of heights. He even found that looking at the tiny pinprick of the village below was deeply soothing in a way that he couldn't remember experiencing, however long he'd yearned for it. He felt for one aching second the soul-deep contentment of living there, of wandering the woods and plains spread below and around him, of soaring through the air with the thick-plumed birds that circled round them and plunged downward before shooting back up to pierce the clouds.

It was a quiet hand that brought him back to the present.

"Watch your step," said Trillian, with a soft look that almost resembled a smile. She nodded towards the rock about to trip him.

"Thanks," said Arthur.

"Thank Ford. He was the one who noticed you looking at the birds."

"Thanks, Ford."

"Just trying to keep from carrying you," said Ford, amiably.

"They are beautiful, aren't they?" said Trillian, looking up.

Arthur followed her gaze skyward to watch the birds play. "Yes, they-"

"Look, I hate to interrupt your little bird-watching expedition, but I don't want to carry either one of you and the rocks are _below_ your eyes, rather than above. At least, so far."

"Sorry, Ford," said the others.

And even though Arthur was back from his reverie, he still didn't feel like arguing, or complaining, or being afraid of heights. In fact, he was beginning to think that he might learn to like heights.

They were met at the bottom of the path by two men carrying a very dead ( _very recently dead,_ he amended to himself) animal reminding Arthur of a cross between a cow and a wildebeest. The men shielded their prize from the strangers, and two more came hurrying up, bows drawn and arrows aimed.

"Bob sent us," said Arthur, before anyone could stop him.

There was a collective gasp, and the men all dropped their heads to their chests in salute. "Then we offer you this, our first catch of the Autumn Passage," said the one carrying the front end of the animal. With that, they proffered their kill to the strangers.

"Erm, look, it's a very kind offer," fumbled Ford, "but we don't-"

"Thank you," said Arthur, stepping forward. "Bob will be pleased to know of your generosity toward his friends. Your feast will be-plentiful."

The men smiled in relief and brought the beast closer. "Then you will take this to Bob?"

"No. No, Bob has asked us to share your feast with you, but not to take your catch. We wish to go with you to your village."

The men beamed at them. "Then you shall be our honoured guests," said the man at the front end.

"That will be lovely," said Arthur, "Mister...?"

"Thrashbarg."

"Thrashbarg," repeated Arthur. "Very well, lead on, Mr. Thrashbarg."

"Well done, Arthur," whispered Trillian as they followed after, hanging back a little.

"Never thought you had it in you," said Ford, clapping him on the back.

"Why did you save me, then?"

"Cause I thought you were funny," said Ford.

"I never really thought of myself as comedically talented, but-"

"No, no, I mean the way you were always complaining about everything and failing with women."

"Oh, that. Of course, how stupid of me."

Ford looked at him, oddly. "I'm only joking, Arthur."

"Yes, of course you are."

"No, I mean it. I-I actually, well, like you, as much as it pains me to say so."

"Oh. Well. That's all right, then. Erm ... thanks. For saving me, I mean."

"Don't thank me yet, earthman. For all we know, those beasts are poisonous."

Arthur shrugged. "They seem like perfectly normal beasts to me."

* * *

The perfectly normal beasts turned out to be delicious. So delicious, in fact, that Arthur wished that he could take a slab of one back to the Heart of Gold when their time in the village was up. However, given that the Improbability Drive would be likely to turn it into a can of baked beans or a ball of string, he thought it might be rather a bad idea. Wistfully, he contemplated the dwindling possibilities for culinary excellence as they finished up the sandwiches he'd made for lunch on their second day in young Thrashbarg's hut.

"We should really take some of this with us when we go back to the ship," said Ford, licking his fingers.

"Wouldn't the Improbability Drive muck it up, somehow?"

Ford shrugged. "It might. On the other hand, it might give us the best beast stew in the universe."

"It'll probably just ignore us altogether," said Trillian. "The computer was very proud of the Improbability Factor it produced. It won't want to bother with anything under twenty billion for at least another month." She gazed studiously at her empty bowl.

"Penny for your thoughts," said Arthur, a little dubiously.

"I just can't understand why the number was so huge," she said, frowning.

"Surely that could be explained by getting a holiday from Zaphod, as well," offered Ford.

Trillian shook her head. "No, I could have read that number off in about eight hours with a break for lunch."

"Add to that a planet that Arthur actually likes?"

"About a day, with two meal breaks. Short ones, though."

Arthur glared at her.

"Okay, how about factoring in Arthur getting over his fear of heights and learning how to communicate with the natives before we did?"

Arthur glared at Ford.

"Add about a minute for the heights, since it wasn't that big a phobia to begin with, and nothing for the communication, since he's watched the right old films."

"Ha!" said Arthur, proudly.

"How about landing us on a completely unknown planet where the natives can read English and have a god named Bob?" demanded Ford.

"Well, they can't exactly read it on their own," allowed Arthur. "I've had to teach them, a bit."

"Them?" quipped Ford. "You mean 'him', don't you? You've had quite the little groupie, haven't you?"

"Twelve point three minutes off for Bob-you know how common that name is, Ford-and add about two days for the reading English bit," acknowledged Trillian. "Even with Arthur spending twenty hours teaching his most enthusiastic student, that's far less likely than a holiday from Zaphod."

An enthusiastic glutton for information, Thrashbarg had glued himself to Arthur until the Chief had pulled him away to help preserve the meat of the perfectly normal beasts.

"True enough," muttered Ford.

"Bloody right," grumbled Arthur, at the same time.

Just then, Thrashbarg popped his head in through the door. "I'm so sorry to intrude-"

"Nonsense," said Arthur, expansively. "It's your hut, after all."

"Yes, do come in," said Ford.

"The Friends of Bob are indeed most generous," said Thrashbarg, dropping his head in customary salute before entering his abode. "I was just wondering.... What is Bob really like?"

Trillian rolled her eyes, and Arthur found three sets of eyes pleading with him.

"Well, that's a bit hard to explain. He has a certain ... ineffable quality about him, which-"

"Ineffable? Is that in your Book of Words?"

"Yes, actually, it is," said Arthur, at which point he proceeded to show Thrashbarg the definition in painstaking detail.

Ford took that moment to snag Trillian with a wordless suggestion that they slip out of the hut.

"Thanks," said Trillian, when they had walked far enough away from the main concentration of huts.

"Yeah, he's going to be at that for hours, and I'd really rather not kill him."

"You wouldn't kill him," said Trillian, "you like him too much." She fixed her eyes on a spot on the ground and walked towards it.

"I don't like him that much...."

"I've seen you looking at him." Trillian stared at the ground and turned right.

"Yeah? Well ... I've seen him looking at you!"

"And he's seen me looking at Zaphod. I really wish Marvin hadn't outed us all."

"What did the Improbability Drive do to him?"

"Turned him into the doormat." Trillian started moving faster, still staring at the ground.

"I'm glad I tripped on him, then. Er ... Trillian? Where are we going?"

"Something's bothering me about those animals," she said. "It looks like they went off this way." She kept following the impressions in the ground.

"What? They seem like perfectly ordinary prey animals, to me. And they taste really good!"

"Haven't you ever wondered how they were just suddenly _there_ , when before they just _weren't_?"

"Well, they do run quite fast...."

"Not that fast," said Trillian. "Didn't you notice that grassy plain?"

"Of course I did!"

"What did you see on it when we left the ship?"

"Well, grass, I suppose. And the ship." He cleared his throat.

"And Arthur's ass."

"And Arthur's-Oi!"

"Was there anything in sight with more than two legs?"

"Well, no, but-"

"And what about the sound?"

"Well, I didn't hear any mooing, either...."

Trillian sighed, but didn't allow her attention to wander from the ground. "Did you hear anything before I asked about it?"

"No," said Ford with a frown, "but I just assumed that was because I was concentrating on finding a way down the cliff."

"Well, if we didn't see anything, or hear anything, and then they were suddenly on top of us, where did they come from?"

"Some sort of underground cave?" offered Ford.

"I doubt it, but I suppose it's possible. And where did they go?"

"I don't know, but at least chasing them will give us something to do while Arthur's finding fulfilment as a teacher," said Ford.

"It might also tell us why the Improbability Factor was so huge," said Trillian.

They'd followed the tracks for about a mile when they suddenly disappeared at the edge of a thicket of trees. "Damn!" said Trillian.

"What did they do? Disappear into another dimension? Where's the door?"

"I don't know," hissed Trillian. "I just-"

"Shh!" Ford grasped Trillian's arm and pointed ahead. There, nibbling on the leaves of a tree, was one of Arthur's 'perfectly normal beasts' levitating four feet above the ground.

"Come back here," said an irritated voice.

Ford and Trillian whipped around to see a squat man with greying hair and a stubbly beard, hands on his hips, glaring up at the errant animal. Ford shifted and a twig cracked.

The man's eyes remained focused on the animal. "See what you've gone and done? You've been seen!" He turned and fixed his gaze briefly on the explorers. "At least you're not villagers," he said, before turning back to the animal. "Now come on inside and have some proper food. It's not your turn to be eaten, yet."

The animal looked around, sighed and sank to the ground, walking towards the man. It glanced at Ford and Trillian and then walked past the man and disappeared just past his shoulder.

The man came towards them and offered his hand. "Hello. I'm Bob. And you are...?"

"Ford. Prefect."

"Tricia McMillan. Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

"I get that a lot," said Bob. "Look, I'm very busy, but I just wanted to say that I hope you've enjoyed your holiday, and you're all welcome to come back, once you've forgotten your visit here. Oh, and I'm sorry about Earth," he added to Trillian. "Terrible business. You and Arthur have my sympathies."

"Could you tell us-" began Trillian.

"No, I'm afraid I can't. And what's more, you can't tell anyone else about this."

"Not even Arthur?" asked Ford.

"Especially not Arthur! It would ruin everything!"

"He does seem quite happy...."

"Yes, and you wouldn't want to spoil that for him, would you?"

"Well...."

"Good. Well, then, I really must be going. Lots to do and very little time. Best of luck." With that, Bob turned away and vanished precisely where the apparently not-perfectly-normal beast had.

"So that's Bob," said Ford.

"Maybe," said Trillian. "But I could have sworn I knew him...."

"Oh, you know everyone," said Ford. "What do you suppose he's doing here? Keeping millions of edible beasts in some sort of inter-dimensional stable?"

"Probably," said Trillian, absently.

"Well, we'd best get back to the village before it gets dark, hadn't we?"

"Yeah," said Trillian, chewing on a nail. "I just wish...."

Ford patted her arm, urging her to walk with him. "You'll know one day. You always do."

"You think so?" she asked, hopefully. "Because this one's really curious."

"You mean _you're_ really curious," chivvied Ford.

"That, too," she admitted.

"Bob was right, you know. We can't tell Arthur anything."

"No, we can't."

"Can you imagine what he would say if he found out that his so-called 'perfectly normal beasts' levitated to eat?"

Trillian snorted. "He'd be miserable," she said, at last.

"Yeah."

"And we sort of like him when he's not."

"Yeah."

* * *

The next day, the travellers bade a fond farewell to the villagers. In varying degrees, they each had trouble trying to figure out whether they were sadder to say goodbye to the planet that had given them both good food and a peaceful interlude, or to face the prospect of having to deal with Zaphod and Marvin again. For Arthur, it was very hard to make himself go back. In the end, he did so because Ford assured him that they would have to return to catalogue the planet for the Hitchhiker's Guide, and that his skills would be essential for that purpose. (Or so he would bribe the Editor-in-Chief to believe.) He was also quite sure that the Executive Chef at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe would be most interested in the flesh of the perfectly normal beasts, with the proviso that they be given a sexier name.

Arthur gave the dictionary to Thrashbarg as a parting gift, with Trillian and Ford supplying the admonition not to let any of the other villagers touch or set eyes on it. The light in Thrashbarg's eyes at that gesture nearly illuminated his hut, and he kissed the right elbow of each guest in a gesture of farewell before presenting Arthur with a slab of preserved perfectly normal beast.

The journey back to the ship was undertaken with very little conversation. Arthur noticed how the sun glinted in Trillian's hair. Ford noticed the easy sway of Arthur's hips as they took long steps back up the hill. Trillian watched the birds-pikka birds, they had learnt-as they gambolled in the clouds. Arthur wondered if she was looking forward to seeing Zaphod again.

When they reached the top of the hill, they turned to look back over the cliff.

"Careful, Arthur," said Ford, with a certain wry affection. "You know how you are about heights."

Arthur gave him a cryptic smile and walked to the very edge. "It's quite beautiful, isn't it?"

"Try looking straight down and saying that," teased Ford.

"Not today, I don't think."

Trillian stopped Ford from clapping Arthur on the back. "We should be getting back," she said. "We don't want the computer to get too annoyed with us."

"Good point," said Ford. "It might give us two Marvins, just for spite."

"Oh, GOD!"

Ford and Trillian had to steady Arthur a bit just then as his foot nearly slipped over the edge of the cliff.

Half a mile later, a beneficent flat-screen television smiled at them. "Ah, there you are! Did you enjoy your holiday?"

The computer was sounding less like Julie Andrews as Mary Poppins and more like Julie Andrews as Maria von Trapp. Arthur wondered for a horrible moment if it would launch into a rendition of 'My Favourite Things'.

"Yes, it was quite relaxing," said Trillian, running a hand over the beanbag chair.

"Yeah, it was cool," said Ford. "We're going to have to come back to catalogue it for the Guide."

"We'll talk about that in a minute," said the flat-screen, its expression guarded. "What about you, Arthur? Did you have a good time?"

"Yes," said Arthur, around a lump in his soul. "I really liked it there."

"Oh, good! Now, put that meat in the fridge and I'll make you some sandwiches in a bit."

Arthur stowed the slab in the refrigerator next to the flat-screen.

"Now, dears," said the computer, and Arthur knew that couldn't mean anything good, "everybody close your eyes, and-"

"Oh, look, I'm back," said Marvin. "Isn't that horrible?"

"I dreamed the earthman sat on me," said Zaphod. "I think I bit him in the arse...."

"I feel pretty good," said Trillian.

"Yeah, so do I," said Ford, stretching. "Sort of like-"

"-you just had a twelve-hour nap?" offered Arthur.

"Yeah! How did you know?"

"I want a sandwich," said Trillian.

"So do I," said Arthur and Ford.

"Happy to be of service," said the computer.

On a far distant planet, a villager named Thrashbarg poured over a book that he called a Dictionary that he remembered finding at the bottom of the Great Precipice. He knew right away that it had been a gift from Bob, and he kept it in a secret place in his hut where nobody else could find it. Right now, he was contemplating the word, 'ineffable', and thinking how very right it was to apply it both to Bob and his book.

 

 

 


End file.
